


you came into my crazy world

by buries



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:02:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>sometimes he says things like that, revealing to her that, like the radio she’s dismantled over and over, there’s something inside of him that needs to be fixed.</i> or bellamy shows raven that he can talk shop, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you came into my crazy world

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in response to a tumblr meme, to the prompt of _have you seen the … oh._ set during what i would hope for season three, but this is obviously an au in that regard. i also do not know shit about radios so i google imaged a radio and picked a random part inside of it to focus on here.
> 
> cella asked for it and so this is dedicated to her. ♥ this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. title is from avicii's _addicted to you_.

Sometimes there's this shadow that looms over her. Most of the time it's pretty big, almost like something's come to eclipse the sun in the middle of the day. Her world is occasionally cloaked in a darkness she can't build even a lantern to disperse.

Sometimes, it's just Bellamy hovering.

After telling him there's a good ten centimetre rule when it comes to lingering in her workshop when she's _busy_ , he's since lingered in the background, taking a seat on a stool as she remains hunched over at her workstation. It's a mess, big and destructive enough to look like what he assumes the end of the world had appeared to look like after the bombs had gone off.

Maybe it’s an insult, but she always finds herself preening underneath his own quip. If the end of the world looked like her messy and disorganised workshop, then she thinks whoever built the bomb had to be a genius.

Raven's brows knit together as she remains sitting on her stool, bum leg straight and the toes of her boot brushing against the ground. Her good leg remains bent, sometimes tapping against the footrest she'd built into the stool, sometimes remaining still.

She never realises when she’s tapping her foot in anticipation or aggravation or excitement. Right now, it’s frustration at the fiddly bits of putting her radio back together.

Without peering over her shoulder at him, she knows he's there. When he'd first discovered her other stool didn't spin, she'd done her best to rework it, turning the seat into one that lets her workshop orbit around him if he presses his long legs to the ground or bends them to rest against the footrest she'd screwed onto that. She can tell he's spinning, restless and desperate to be on his feet, maybe with a gun in his hands to train with the others, but for some reason, Kane's blocked him, like the blind ass he is. 

_It's better I stay far away from gunfire_ , he often says with a roll of his eyes. _Like I almost didn't get blown to shit in an air vent in Mount Weather._

Sometimes he says things like that, revealing to her that, like the radio she's dismantled over and over, there's something inside of him that needs to be fixed. But she figures he'll pick up a spanner or a flathead screwdriver and begin pulling himself apart when he thinks it's time. 

Bellamy's always been able to tell what time of day it is by looking at the sun — or maybe that's just him, knowing what she needs when she needs it. She may not be able to return the favour, being able to pull a part from a radio or even draw a diagram on her board to show him how to fix himself, but she figures he’s here for a reason. Sometimes she thinks it’s to bug the living shit out of her.

With a growl, her hand tightens on the screwdriver, her knuckles whitening as she tries to repair the radio by piecing it back together. Sometimes she thinks she's screwed it up, mixing the parts of the various radios by dumping them all in one pile on her bench, but if she wants to make the most powerful radio known to earth, then she figures a little mix and match is her best bet in achieving that.

Throwing her hand behind her, she wiggles her fingers, but doesn't look at him over her shoulder when she says,"Can you pass me the —" And her mind spaces for a moment, distracted by the radio as her other hand tries to keep a component in place, desperate to screw it back to its body. She needs the piece she can imagine in her head to achieve that, but she doesn’t think to say it.

After a brief moment, she feels something cold in her hands. Peering over her shoulder with an arch to her brow, she finds that he's placed the wide and short antenna in her hands.

Looking up at him, she sees he's using his legs to spin the seat of his stool right and left, acting like some kid who can't really sit still. She guesses that's Bellamy Blake, the kid who can't sit still and be quiet if he's got nothing to occupy his hands or a strategy to form inside that thick head of his.

As if sensing her gaze, he looks up at her. Looking down at her hands, he lifts his own to point toward it. "The thing. Looks like a poor man’s baton."

Raven rolls her eyes. “It’s an antenna.” She regards him with a smile that’s warm, something that curves against her mouth so naturally she sometimes believes it must be something of a natural talent of his. Like that Icarus guy he goes on about at times, he warms rooms like he’s the sun — or something.


End file.
